


Scream if you need help

by redhoodtea



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Arthur being such a whore but there are reasons, Bottom Arthur, Depression, Gaslighting, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, John has issues and Arthur has issues, M/M, Modern AU, Not a healthy relationship, Oral Sex, Past Drug Use, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sex Addiction, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Violence, Struggling John, Top John, dubcon, noncon, suicidal Arthur
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21559072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoodtea/pseuds/redhoodtea
Summary: John Marston fucked up his life by one horrible, stupid mistake in the past. He barely made ends meet, with no hope or future. His life was a total mess and every day he was one day closer to death. One bloody Saturday night, John met Arthur, another miserable and desperate soul in a different way, but somehow John managed to understand. He found out something about Arthur, and now he wanted to help him out of his past, which devoured his whole life and corrupted his mind and soul.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

John Marston woke up late on that bloody Saturday morning. It was one ordinary weekend day and there was no need to be upset or mad about anything. Although he had to go to work and found out something horrible about himself right after he peeled his eyelids open on the uncomfortably sweaty bed, still, he was fine. It was of no use keeping reminding himself how much he hated working on the weekend. About ‘finding out something horrible’ part - John had realized a long time ago that his life was only a slow and painful process of death, and he would never ever have a chance to be a man with a decent job, not to mention a millionaire. Life was a miracle and you should find happiness from small things, well fuck that shit. He was a loser, end of the story.

He used to be a smart student and a good swimmer back in high school. Couldn’t say that he got straight A’s, but he even took AP classes and his coach arranged a few scouts for him. He thought that one day he would become somebody that mattered - okay, he would not be a rockstar or an Oscar-winning actor, but that was only because he was not interested in singing or acting career. However, he could go to LA someday and get a job in the entertainment industry. He might major in journalism and maybe he would be a writer or a publicist in the future - what he was trying to say was that everything was possible back then. He was a damn young, smart, ambitious boy and he could go to any prestigious university, major in anything that would help him make a fortune. Maybe he could get a scholarship and go to med school or law school in a few years. So that was what Johnny boy was dreaming about when he was 17.

However, things did not go that well. John went to a state university with a swimming scholarship. He majored in Economics. Things were tough - swimming and studying at the same time. There were smart students from around the world - countries like China, India, and etc. Indians were really good at math - sounds like a bit stereotype, but it was true. They swept A in classes - From Introductions to Economics to Mathematical Economics. It was way tougher than John thought it would be being a college boy. He earned his living by part-time at a nearby cafe. His roommate got a tutoring job from his aunt. The boy was a rich kid with a trust fund in his name, and still, he somehow got a scholarship. John’s aunt Rachel got 3 kids and worked as a cashier at Target.

Working at Cafe was not bad at all. It was run by a middle-aged hipster guy from CA, and he did some magic with coffee beans. He taught how to brew coffee with an espresso machine and a French press. The cafe served a special coffee named ‘the blue cup’. Its recipe was rather unconventional and invented by his boss himself. Every time he brewed ‘the blue cup’ he put some kind of herb bags with ground coffee beans in a french press. It smelled really weird, but people liked it. His boss once handed a cup of ‘the blue cup’ to John. The steaming dark liquid had tiny bubbles on its surface, and whenever they broke strong scents hit his nostrils. John politely declined it saying ‘Coffee keeps me awake.’ His boss just shrugged his shoulder and said ‘Well, it’s your loss.’

John still remembered that day. It was a week before a national swimming competition, and John was in the middle of finals. He took 3 tests that afternoon and had 4 more to come. He gulped down Monsters after Monsters but the caffeine in his system was slowly failing to stimulate his nerves. It was a stupid idea - but ain’t 18-year-old boys stupid in general? One med student told him that if one energy drink would not work then take something else, and have the original one later. Did Monster fail? Than take Red bull or coffee instead, and take Monster again. It was total bullshit, of course, but It sounded quite plausible as it was from a med student. Typical ad verecundiam fallacy. However John was desperate and his brain was in no condition for good judgment due to the lack of sleep and heavy pressure, so John decided to take something he would never if it weren’t a special occasion. The blue cup. He had emptied 2 packs of Monster and Red bull already, so the conventional coffee was the only alternative he had.

The cafe was open for 24 hours - such a weird working hour considering the owner was a hipster. (Wasn’t a hipster younger version of hippy?) He ran to the cafe. Bonnie was standing behind the counter. She was the other part-timer working at night shift. She smiled at John when she saw him entering the cafe. He smiled back at her. Despite dark shadows under his bloodshot eyes, she kinda blushed. She liked him although they had no chance to date. John did not mean to hide his sexuality, but he was a university athlete and the sports industry was never LGBT friendly. She handed him a cup of ‘the blue cup’. It smelled awful and John winced when he took a sip from it. It tasted even worse. John frowned at it getting confused over the quality of this coffee. He even suspected Bonnie to give him something went bad, but he shook his head as he knew she was a good girl. He thanked her for the coffee and left the cafe holding a cup of ‘blue cup’ on his right hand. He somehow managed to finish it before sitting at the desk. It left bitter and weird tastes in his mouth and he felt somewhat… floaty. Things got hazy. John opened his books and notes, but the words in there started to float and got mixed with each other. It felt funny and high. Shit, High. Soon he lost his mind and darkness filled his vision.

He failed the tests the next day. It was a total mess. He could not even finish Financial Economics test before TA asked him to turn in his paper. However, what John feared most was not screwed up finals - the drug test. John tried to tell his coach - Coach, you know… it was a mistake, really. I didn’t mean to take it, believe me. It was just a goddamn accident. I will sue that fucking pothead for drugging me. I mean, what kind of moron take a drugged coffee a week before a competition? It wasn’t even steroids… was a fucking weed. You know brownies and cakes with weed in them, that sort of thing. Was not a big deal, really. Yeah, of course, his coach would buy that story. John did what he could do. He somehow got ‘clean urine’ from someone he met at a local bar. He asked something in exchange - something John did not want to do. However, he did not have much choice and had to kneel before that man for it. Did ‘clean urine’ help? Well. it turned out that switching the urine sample was not an easy job. He got caught and had to urinate with a man from the association watching him filling the sample vial with his urine. The test result kicked him out of both the swimming team and the university.

That was how John Marston’s life got collapsed. A college dropout sounded rather nice relative to what really had happened to him. He wanted to sue the cafe owner and bring justice to that motherfucker, but fear held him back that he might be charged with in connection with drug trafficking. He was already expelled from the university. Going to jail would not make his life any better unless he would do some ‘Orange is the new black’ shit in there. He could not go back home, either. What would his parents say? You kicked out of the state university because of fucking weed? You could have been a market research analyst, an actuary, a management consultant, or even a lawyer! Getting a six-feature salary and taking a vacation at Bahama were something you could have had. You fucking idiot, John Marston, you screwed up your life. You are a goddamn adult and you fucked up your future with your own hands, by taking weed. John could imagine their frustrated voices and flaming anger. So he chose to run away.

Life was hard. There were some places hiring a young man from nowhere. The shitty job they were. Jobs with low wages a few pennies more than minimum and offering no insurances. John lived from hand to mouth - he tried to find any better expression, but it suited just perfectly. He still dreamed about that night - the night when one silly mistake took everything from him. He sat there with books opened in front of him. He could hear those pens clicking and pages turning, annoying but soothing at the same time. He could inhale that thick air filled with anxiety and stress, could see the concentrating faces with furrowed brows and pursed lips. It felt so right, comfortable and his heart was welling up with hopes. Then the familiar face came near him and said fucking nonsense. Don’t listen to him. That’s total bullshit, just sit tight and keep studying. John told himself but his body did not listen to him. He woke up and walked down the street. All those familiar landscapes were now becoming ominous nightmares, and deja vu was slowly choking him.

He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t. He was standing in front of the cafe, soon he was saying hello to sweet Bonnie, and then he was holding a cup. That deadly, poisonous cup smelling like sulfur and vomit. He really did not want to have it. No, absolutely not. Not a chance. Please don’t. But he did, his body betrayed his will and took it as if a spirit possessed his body and performed it. That hot, disgusting thick liquid in his mouth. It filled his mouth as if it would tear up his mouth. He could feel something heavy around his palate and tongue, hitting the soft flesh inside his neck, back of his throat. He could not breathe. He did not want to do this. Someone was pulling his hair hard and he could feel that curly pubic hair around his lips. He wanted to throw up. That thick meat shoved up in his mouth was ripping the soft flesh inside his cheeks and suffocating him. He wanted to push the man away. But he didn’t. He had to do this. Then he woke up, soaked in sweat. He rolled over to put his head over the trash bin next to his bed to throw up. That was what happened in the middle of the night - a few hours before sunrise. He glanced at his phone. It was 2 am in the morning. He tried to fall asleep again, but bedsheets were wet and now it felt a bit chilling. His mouth got dried. However, he could not get up for a glass of water. He just wanted to disappear in the air or something, so he did not have to feel all those miseries and fears. That was what happened in the damn early morning of that bloody Saturday. He tossed and turned in his bed in darkness, struggling to get back to sleep. Of course, it failed just like everything he had tried in his life - however somehow he fell asleep - and woke up late. That was how John Marston woke up late on bloody Saturday morning.

He was on the afternoon shift. It was from 3 pm to 11 pm. According to the employer-friendly labor low, his employer did not have to pay extra wages for working on weekends. Oh, how much he loved this United Stated of Capitalism. He woke up and walked toward the kitchen. An old white fridge made some knocking sound whenever he opened the door. It seemed that something got loose - the motor shaft or compressor flywheel. Someday he would deal with it, but not today. John took out a slice of pizza. It was tough and tasted like chewing cardboard but that was what he had. He took a quick shower and dressed up for the work. An old charcoal grey hoodie and a pair of jeans, both were under 5 dollars and worn out. He could tell it was time to leave his house without checking his watch. His body was heavy with gravity trying to pin him down here literally, in his shitty safety zone. If he had a gun, he would shoot himself in the head. However he did not, and all he got was bills and rent to pay, so he got up and finally went to work.

Another shitty day went by. John worked at a small supermarket. The manager was a short man with huge belly and John doubted that the man was wielding his so-called ‘authority’ as a man in charge of running this ‘store’ to compensate his involuntarily preserved chastity. It was nearly midnight when he got back to his home. He lived in old apartments. It was a 6 story building with no elevator, and that made rent quite reasonable as much as he could afford one with 1 bedroom. Yet it was damn torture to climb up all those stairs after 8 hours of working. He cursed every step - and that was when he met that guy, cursing f word under his breath on the stairs leading to the 6th floor. There was a man. He sat leaning against the door. It was a free country, you could sit wherever and whenever you wanted. The only problem was that the door that man was leaning against was where John had to go through to get into his apartment. John cleared his throat, hoping it would wake him up. Of course, it would not work. The man was not even twitching. It seemed that he fell into a deep sleep. John hoped that this guy was just totally wasted, as finding a dead guy in front of his apartment was the worst thing that could happen. It was bloody Saturday and I had to work, so God, please spare me. John prayed silently and carefully put a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Hey, sir… can you hear me?”

No answer. John gently shook his shoulder one more time, wondering how heavy the man would be as there was a possibility that he had to move unconscious man away.

And the man opened his eyes. His eyes were bluish-green under dim light, and sudden flash in his eyes surprised John. However what surprised John more was that he just closed his eyes again, his head cocked in a weird direction. John cursed under his breath one more time. This motherfucker was giving him the worst Saturday night. He pushed him aside to open the door. The man was literally sprawling on the floor. John did not know him and there was absolutely no reason to feel sorry for him. This was a big white guy he was talking about, and it was none of his business whether this guy woke up next morning regretting having had too much beer last night or got robbed by anyone looking for easy money. It really wasn’t. However John was a stupid ass, and he brought the man into his apartment. Technically, he dragged the man by his shoulder as he was bigger and heavier than he thought. He managed to put him on his sofa. He nearly sprawled over the man when he hauled him onto the sofa. John nearly collapsed onto his bed, thinking that he did something stupid again, that he would regret it next morning.

John woke up late the next day. His body felt heavy as if he had been drowned in the sea of alcohol, which was not true at all because he had such a puritanical Saturday. No drink, no fun, only work. However, he questioned his sobriety when he found a man lying on his sofa. A glimpse of yesterday rushed into his mind, although it was not that helpful since he still had no idea who he was. The mystery man suddenly opened his eyes. The flashing blues and greens in his eyes brought back somewhat familiar impression he had had last night when he had seen the man’s daring greenish-blue eyes for the first time. He slowly rolled his eyes as if he was trying to get adjust his own body, and then he stared at John.

“Hey.”

He sat up, or he tried to in a sluggish manner and finally made it.

“... Wha’ happened?”

“Don’t know. You sat in front of my apartment, unconscious. Thought you had drinks or drugs, I don’t know. Couldn’t leave you like that, out there. So I brought you in.”

“...well, I see..”

  
The man closed his eyes again and his body got sank into his old flat sofa. There was an awkward silence between them once again.

“I’m John. John Marston.”

“Arthur. Morgan.”

John thought that his name suited him when he heard that. Suddenly he realized that Arthur was looking at him. His gaze felt nonchalant and rather blue. John could not see what he meant by saying that someone’s gaze was blue, but that was the only thing came to his mind. Arthur leaned forward, getting too close to him - to his crotch. John finally realized what he was doing when he put his hands on the fly to unbutton it. John quickly stepped back and almost fell to his butt.

“The fuck?”

“Thought I can show ma appreciation.”

“What the…”

His voice sounded so calm as if nothing was wrong. Did John let a fucking rapist in? Arthur did not even flinch at Johns’ wincing face with disbelief and shock. Would he jump him or something? He was a big man - slightly taller and larger than John. He wanted to say that he had a 50 - 50 chance to win the fight with this man, knowing his chances were a little slimmer that he wanted. He condemned his own poor judgment and regretted letting a strange man in his apartment. That was exactly what he had assumed he would do the next morning.

“Hey. I don’t want any trouble, and I want you to leave, NOW.”

John hoped his voice sounded quite threatening than he thought. Arthur shrugged off his shoulder and muttered ‘sorry.’ And then he left. John let out a deep breath. It was one hell of a weekend.


	2. Chapter 2

It turned out that Arthur was John’s new neighbor. The 6th floor contained 3 apartments - 6A, 6B, and 6C. John was an old resident of 6A. He did not enjoy living there, he just didn’t have enough money and energy to get away from it. Chipped and half-peeled off paint flakes from the walls and ceiling caught on John’s dark hair occasionally. Permanent snow that would never thaw, made out of deadly chemicals. Beneath the flaky layers of it, there lay the lethal black mold ready to infect him anytime. It was a perfect diorama of climate change and the possible epidemics caused by ancient bacteria, viruses, and fungi from the melting glacier. Come to my place, you pessimists who deny climate change. Watch and learn this deadly condition. John was more than willing to give a tour if that would promise him any chance of escaping that shithole.

There were so many things John could tell about the horrible conditions of his place. Leaking toilet and cracked sink made a perfect bathroom along with spitting faucets, and the kitchen. It was beyond description. John feared that one day a gas leak would burn down the whole building to the ground. That was one of many excuses why John did not cook. Death by fire was the most painful, allegedly. He knew that 6B was not any better than his. It seemed that there was no regular tenant for 6B. Sometimes John heard a thud or some kind of dull drumming noises coming from the adjusting apartment, the sign that the place was occupied, but he had never seen somebody going in or coming out of it. 6C had been closed for repair since the day John moved into this apartment.

John used to be the only resident on the 6th floor, and now he got a company, sort of. And dear Arthur was such a sweet, loving neighbor - literally. He did make love, a lot. John found out how thin the walls between their places were by all the cries, pants and moans he heard almost every night. He thought that maybe his neighbor was a porn addict, however, that deep groans and husky voice sounded rather familiar. He was a look looking guy with a bulky body, and it's a free country. It was none of John’s business Arthur living such a lecherous life. However, that 'fucking' noises had been continued for days and nights - John heard that on weekends too, so there was a high possibility that this Arthur guy was banging somebody literally day and night.

John even suspected that maybe this Arthur guy had some pathologic sexual impulses, such as satyriasis, because that was the only logical explanation for his unbelievably libidinous life. It was a torture that he could not fall asleep because of that incessant ‘noises.’ He wanted to knock that door to Sodom and Gomorrah and politely remind Arthur that he had a goddamn neighbor who could not have a good night’s sleep due to his active ‘something.’ However, he remembered his first encounter with Arthur, and what he had suggested to him that night. He did not want to engage in such an activity with someone he barely knew. Moreover, he saw that the guy was a bit taller and bigger than himself. There was a chance that his gentle ask somehow developed to an argument, and perhaps he should consider getting a gun seriously before knocking on Arthur’s door. Long story short, John simply put up with all the inconvenience his new neighbor was causing.

It was a goddamn Halloween night. Nothing special, nothing bad, except this year’s Halloween was on weekend and John had to work on that day, again. His working schedule was totally up to the manager, and John had a suspicion that the manager had found joy and pleasure in messing up with his working schedule. Luckily, he had Javier. Javier Escuella had been his coworker and friend for over 3 years, and he also shared his disgust at the manager. Javier called the manager ‘El Gordo de mierda’ whenever he made some fucked-up jokes on Mexican. John did not have to run google translate to find out what that meant. Javier was the next best target for the manager, as he was a skinny Latino and a good friend of John.

That was the reason why they were left working at the store on Sunday, aka this years’ Halloween, and why they picked up some bottles of beer at the back corner of the store. The manager had already left the store for a personal reason long ago - they both couldn’t believe that fucker had personal life besides making their lives miserable. There were nearly no customers that night - okay, to be honest, there were a few, but they knew exactly where the things were and left Javier and John idle. Javier stashed some whiskey and Tequila for ‘emergency.’ They both took their rations for the emergency. Susan and Karen (they were cashiers) made quite a face at them, but it seemed they decided to leave them as long as they closed the store by themselves. That was the story of how John got quite wasted that night, became bold enough to make a complaint to his new, vicious neighbor, Arthur.

His new neighbor never disappointed him. Those panting, begging, wet cries were already filling the corridor when John reached the 6th floor. John tried to ignore them at first. He took a hot shower and the water drew a thick curtain around him blocking all those noises. Under the hot stream hitting him hard, John became somewhat tolerant - it was a goddamn Halloween, his new neighbor had a right to have goddamn good fucking. However, when he lay down in his bed with still wet hair, he realized that those moans and cries were going on, and on, and on. How’s that even possible? Now John got a bit paranoic - maybe this motherfucker put a speaker on the wall and play porns 24/7 to drive his neighbor crazy. What the fuck had John done to him except saving his ass? Perhaps this motherfucker wanted to commit suicide that night, and John somehow interrupted him by letting him take a rest in his place, safely. Oh, you ungrateful bastard. John raised himself from his bed and rushed toward the door. He opened the door and peered out from it.

He saw a man coming out of 6B. He could not grasp who he was at first, as the man did not have familiar light brown hair or a well-built body. He finally found out that the man was not Arthur, just a stranger John had little chance to meet ever again. A sudden epiphany hit him hard, though it did not stop him from standing in front of 6B. The Alcohol kicked in and liquid courage was filling his heart. Him knocking on the door sounded somewhat gentle, though. John did not expect Arthur to emerge behind the room that quickly, almost flung the door open. Most of his body was hidden behind the door, but John could see his bare chest and shoulder. John tried his best not to lay his eyes on his new, uncomfortable neighbor’s partially naked torso and wished this wooden flank called ‘a door’ well hid the rest of his body. John cleared his throat and took the first step to resolve issues with his dear neighbor.

“Hey, I’m John. The man who shares the wall with you? living next door?”

That was a good start, a gentle, polite one, Although his voice was coarse and breathy due to the alcohol he had that evening, there seemed to be absolutely no possibility of engaging in physical conflict, so far.

“I know who you are, already. You... helped me that night.”

Then please return that favor and treat me better. John wanted to snarl at him, but he held his temper.

“Yeah, I did. How are ya feeling these days? Hope you doin’ well. ”

“Sorta. Thanks.”

Before the uncomfortable, awkward silence ensued, John continued.

“You know, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but, uh… well, the walls... are really thin here.”

He paused for a moment, then he took a glance at him. Arthur did not even flinch at it, and it kinda irritated him.

“So, um, I... you know, kinda, hear a lot.”

He said it, finally. And yet no answer.

“shit... It kinda keeps me, I mean, up at night.”

Say something, like, ‘Sorry?’ You did not come here to pick up a fight with him, John talked to himself, wishing that Arthur would say anything. Just a simple word of apology could satisfy John and bring him back to his home - because now he felt weary, guess all the work and the alcohol were doing their job quite well, abusing his muscle. He wanted to just lie down on his bed and close his eyes. However, this bulky, supposedly naked, ungrateful and somewhat hot(what?) bastard had no idea what was going on.

“So?”

That one word spat out of that fucker nearly succeeded to push John over the edge, and John was hanging from the cliff named ‘sanity’. John took a deep breath.

“It would be, really, nice of you... if you..”

“If I?”

“..keep quiet at night.”

John somehow managed to smile at him. He pulled corners of his lips up, although his face felt kinda numb. Arthur curled his lip slowly and made a sly grin. Oh good God. It’s over, isn’t it? He handled this noise issue with the worst neighbor in his life like a grown-up, and he could finally take a long-awaited rest. John closed his eyes in relief, and then Arthur grabbed John by the collar and pulled him in. John expected a pounding fist or a hard wall hitting against his face, but instead, he felt something wet and soft on his lips.

Arthur was kissing him, and John should have pushed him away - but his body felt worn out and he already had had too many drinks, and now his legs felt like jelly. And oh, that slick, hot tongue licking the soft flesh inside his mouth. It had been ages since John had gotten laid for the last time. Arthur broke his kiss and John trailed that parting lips with his. John could feel his hands brushing his neck and shoulder, went all the way down to abdomen and hips. He slowly opened his eyes and saw Arthur kneeling in front of him. Through his blurry vision, Arthur's peering blue eyes were so bright that it almost felt like this whole thing was a damn wet dream. And yes, Arthur was fully naked, from head to toe. John could see his dangling member when he pulled John’s pants down. His cock was already half-erect, and Arthur carefully wrapped his hands around it to stroke. How warm and tempting those touches were. John felt agonizing warmth on the head of his penis. Arthur kissed the tip of his cock and slowly slid it into his mouth while his tongue rubbing its head. His tongue licked down the shaft all along until its tip hit the soft flesh on the back of his throat. Arthur clenched his mouth around his member, and John thought that his dick would melt inside his mouth. Arthur hummed and John could feel tight muscles around his cock vibrating. He flung his head back and hit the wall with his head. He felt a sharp pain but everything got faded when Arthur wrapped his tongue and caressed his heavy shaft pulling back.

Arthur pulled all the way back till only the pink head of his cock was held between his lips, then slid down again. John panted like a dying deer. He tried to catch his breath but all he could do was whining as Arthur sucking him off. He grabbed the other man’s hair half-mindedly. He just needed something to hold, unless his body would collapse when he came. He let out a deep moan - the air pumped out of his lung scratched his throat and burst his mouth open. He shoved his hips forward and came hard inside Arthur’s mouth. John leaned back on the wall and let Arthur’s head go. Arthur pulled back slowly and John could see his slick member retreating from the dark cavern of pleasure, containing his cum. Arthur rose and stood in front of him. John could see a stream of semen running down on his lips. He put an arm around Arthur’s neck and pulled him closer. The kiss tasted bitter and awful, but that wet noises tongues sliding and tickling each other in watery mouths were damn arousing. Arthur turned back, and John wet his fingers well enough to open him up.

“You don’t have to. Already prepped up.”

Arthur giggled in a low voice. John grabbed his ass cheeks and spread it. His hole reddened already, and John put a finger inside him. It was loose enough, and wet, hot flesh around his finger made John crave for much intimate contact. John pulled out his finger and stroke his cock. It did not take long to make it harden again. John rubbed the head of his penis on Arthur’s hole, tightening his grabs on his hips. Arthur let out a begging whine, and it made John feel like he was a big wolf, ready to fuck his bitch to the ground. John shoved himself into him. Every inch deeper felt so intoxicating, it nearly suffocated John. When his balls were pressed hard against Arthur’s cheek, Arthur drew a short breath in and it made his whole body tightened around his hard-on member. It was so tight, so damn warm, and so… good. John started to move at a slow pace, he pulled back gently and shove forth gradually, his hands snaking over Arthur’s belly and chest. The hair on his body brushed against John’s palms and that light touch made him tantalizing.

John thrust hard, getting deeper into him and Arthur cried out painfully with unhidden joy, and it just drove him crazy. John held him tight by the waist and ran his free hand on Arthur’s chest. He buried his head on Arthur’s sweaty nape. The salty musk hitting his nostrils triggered animal instinct in him. He licked his nape hungrily. Sweaty taste and hotness on his tongue made it irresistible to bite him. He sank his teeth into his flesh, grinding his hips against his. Strange, coppery taste filled his mouth and his cock pulsated inside him. He was now just a bunch of squirming nerves with pouring sensations - the metallic taste of blood, salty and sultry scents, melting heat, and that tight, wet, hot touches - that was all he was. He wanted to hold something, not to forget that he was an entity with a physical presence. John clenched his arms around Arthur’s waist and grabbed his pec, almost squeezing. He held him tight with his whole body, leaving no space between them. That moment, when he violently pumped his hips into him, he hit the right spot and Arthur’s body convulsed with orgasm under his body. John shoved up his long, deep, final thrust - Arthur’s back arched and tightened as John came inside him. There was no yelling or crying - just panting, heavy breathes squeezed out of their lungs. John pulled him from Arthur, and when his thick cock came out of his body, it drew dripping seeds from his wet hole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John fucked Arthur, period.


	3. Chapter 3

They made a tacit agreement, sort of. Arthur could not spend his night alone, and John could not sleep at night due to his noisy neighbor. Those conditions led to one solution. John visited him at night. Arthur’s door was always open, literally. They did not talk to each other that much. Arthur did not say a word about him - John did not know what he was doing to make a living, spending time during the day, or anything. John was too tired and too aroused to listen to him, though. He did not dare to tell anything about himself to him, as he well knew that his life was nothing but a boring misery. 

He saved his energy to focus on ‘problem-solving’. John had to consume him with the least effort. (he had to work the next day.) His new neighbor was not demanding nor tricky, lucky for him. What he wanted was clear and simple. That was why John saved his speaking, to bang that insatiable bastard till he limped. It was surprising that after all the work during the day, he still somehow had enough energy to fuck him vigorously. He rode him like a merciless cowboy breaking a wild stallion. His body under him twitching and arching with every thrust like a frantic wolf got his leg caught in a trap, crying for freedom desperately. However, his hole was clenching John’s member tightly, and his legs wrapping around his waist pressed him down hard. He wanted it, he needed it. Damn, this motherfucker was inviting John to ruin his hole. He drove himself deep and hard into him. Arthur yelled out something incoherent, coming hard. John collapsed onto his bare chest feeling the pulsating cock between their abdomens. John could catch his throbbing heartbeats from his heaving chest pressed against his ear. The crashing beats gradually slowed and finally steadied. The air was full of unpleasant odors - that sweaty, fishy, and urine-like smells. But the warmth against his skin was somewhat soothing, and a light, rhythmic snore was somehow relaxing. John fell asleep, on Arthur’s bed.

It was a cold November. Weather forecast repeatedly warned that this years’ cold would be record-breaking, and John truly believed them as it was getting colder and colder every morning. The building had a heating system and it seemed to work thanks to the city’s heat regulation - but it was still freezing for John. He was a man with no extra fat, a natural insulator given by mother nature, therefore every winter was harsh for him. He could endure coldness, though it was more like acquiesce to it rather than coping up with it. What made things worse was the daylight - it was getting shorter and shorter each day as winter neared. He had once read that during the winter suicide rate hiked in Northern Europe, as people could not see the sunlight. He had never been to Northern Europe nor experienced the notorious ‘Polar night’. However, he could understand how the absence of the sun could make someone kill himself.

He needed something shiny and warm, like the sun, to survive this desolate season - which was total bullshit, no more than nagging and whining of a 10-year-old boy crying for his video game taken away by his father. He was a fucking grown-up. Messed-up one, but he was. Being overly emotional was not helping at all. He had to be a man, no matter how hard it was. 

It had been almost 2 months since he had applied his own solution to this ‘Arthur issue’. It was quite marvelous that he still got the energy to bang him almost every night after all those works on days. Maybe he was not as old as he thought he was, after all. He stayed with him at night, sometimes. Not too often - Arthur had a single bed and it was damn small for two men over 6 feet tall - but somehow John managed to learn to fit himself in that already occupied bed, day by day. Arthur grumbled at him about not giving him some privacy, but he never pushed him away. 

On his bed, John wondered what they were doing on his back. They were neighbors, that was obvious. They were banging each other, that was the fact. Did he resolve the issue? Sorta. Was he satisfied with the result? Kinda. Were they some sort of sexual partners? Maybe. That last question led his train of thought to another. Did he want something more than this? He could not answer. He could not know where the hell that question popped up. He shook his head. He curled in on himself. He wanted to hold something. Something radiating heat under his skin and pressing his body to make him feel that he was still alive. Something that could convince him that this whole thing was not a dream, or a vision, but a real thing. What he wanted to hold was the broad back laid right before his eyes, that torso so near that he could almost brush tip of his nose on it. Whenever that urge rose inside him, John asked himself again, the question he could not answer.

One weekend morning, he woke up on Arthur’s bed. It was already afternoon as the sunlight dimly lit the room. John rolled over and swung his arms but there was nothing but crumpled sheets. He hoisted himself up on his elbows and found Arthur sauntering away toward the kitchen. He lay back again, savoring the moment. His heart swelled with joy as he reminded himself that he did not have to work today, as well as upcoming weekends at least for a few weeks. During the holiday season, his manager dealt with his own issues rather than spending time messing around John’s working schedule. John prayed to God that the manager’s bachelorhood would last forever, so he would spend more time searching a woman foolish enough to marry him in an effort to stop his family from pressing him to get married. 

John turned his head toward the kitchen - more precisely, toward Arthur. It was surprising that not only Arthur was already up, but also he was even dressed up, considering what they did when they met. He wore a navy sweater and a pair of black jeans. They were such cold and bleak colors, but they somehow brought out the blueness of his eyes and the slight rosiness on his cheeks. There was a familiar aroma floating in the air. 

“You woke up?”

“Yeah. Good morning?”

“Good afternoon to you, too.”

Arthur chuckled, taking a sip from his cup. 

“Want some?”

“Nah, I’m fine.” 

Coffee was the last thing he would take. John put his hands behind his head. It was a peaceful scenery, something he never imagined he would ever get again. Knowing this meant nothing, he could not help feeling something different. He babbled something, almost unconsciously. When he realized what he had said, it was too late. 

“You know, there’s a good Mexican place on 5th avenue.”

“So?”

John wanted to choke himself. What the hell am I doing? But the water was already spilled. He paused for a moment, carefully choosing his next words.

“You should try their tacos, it’s a bit spicy but good.”

“I don’t like spicy food.”

“They also have tamales.”

John could feel his peering eyes over the cup. His mouth became dry at the sight of his stare. His eyes glistened in deep green under the partial darkness in the room. 

“Are you asking me out?”  
He could not answer. John shifted on the bed uncomfortable. Suddenly the sheets on his body felt heavy. Its cheap fabric irritated his bare legs and groin, making him nervous. John wet his lips hoping it would help him think up something. 

“Does that matter?”

Answering a question with another question. Counterquestion was a perfect method of stirring up a quarrel, John remembered what his professor said when she gave a lecture on maieutics. If Prof. Jackson had been here, she would have clicked her tongue with disapproval. 

“Well. I won’t argue with that. I’m hungry and broke. Your treat, got it?” 

Arthur shrugged his shoulder and turned around. John let out a sigh of relief. Something warm and bubbly filled the empty space in his chest once full of anxiety.

He had shrimp tacos and Arthur had a pork burrito. Arthur told him that he was allergic to seafood. It was true that Arthur did not like spicy food. He asked the server to hold the chili and jalapeno. He ordered nachos with guacamole, a glass of Paloma along with his burrito. To John’s surprise, Arthur finished them all in 10 minutes.  
John rather ate to live, not vice versa. It wasn’t that he picked at his dish, but some people said that he always ate like a bird. Food had never been his passion. He was born with such dull taste buds. It was hard to make sense that he used to be a swimmer, a good one, given that swimmers usually ate like a horse. 

Come to think about it, John actually had no desire or want besides basic needs, for a long time. If a psychologist applied Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs model to understand him, he or she would find out that John Marston fell somewhere between the first and second stages - physiological and safety needs. What an animal you were, not living for Esteem or Self-actualization, just surviving one day and another. Such an idea would have cost him his appetite, normally. However, it did not bother him as he thought. The tacos were not bad, actually good. He realized that cilantro had a refreshing flavor and it went well with a heavy sauce. He emptied his dish by the time Arthur finished all his dishes. 

The sky above their heads was dark. To his surprise, John saw a few stars. He could not tell they were part of the constellations, but their mere presence brightened his mind a little. It was cold and he could see his breath fading into the air. John glanced sideways at Arthur. His profile was manly, sort of. However, the round tip of his nose and curves on his lips made it somewhat pretty. John wondered if he would punch him in the face if he heard it. John thought of things he learned about Arthur. He did not like spicy food. He kind of packed it away. He was allergic to seafood. Something he knew about Arthur. He went on about it, a bit unconsciously. 

They walked down the road all the way back to their apartments, side by side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummmm... apparently, this John guy wants to be more than just a fuck buddy.  
> I have no idea what I am doing. Did they had some sorta date? I don't know.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a miserable story in many ways - firstly, as you have already found out, my English is horrible. I tried to pull myself to write something readable but failed. I wrote a story like one from a 10-year-old boy who watched too many crime shows and trying to honor his fictional heroes in the most twisted way. Sorry for my poor English and unrealistic way how I depict modern US city life, which I know nothing of in person and learned everything indirectly through movies, shows, books, and fics. Secondly, John and Arthur are not at all happy in this story. They are both victims of something they had done in the past, or rather, what they had been fallen upon accidentally, and I am not sure they can overcome their pasts. I have soooo many things to write, but Ahhhhh ma English is failing me and it took nearly 4~5 times more time than writing fics in my native language. Hope you enjoy it though, as it is really hard to find any Morston these days...  
> Since I have no proofreader nor any native English speaking tutor for this fic, Grammarly(basic plan) is the sole guide and companion of this broken English fic. I wish I had enough time and energy to finish this... I love John and Arthur and they're being together is my joy and dream. I show that in a rather deranged way, but it is true, trust me. I ship Morston.


End file.
